Herein Lies
by SiZodiac
Summary: It was a promise made...and then betrayed. To Prussia, Russia was no more than an adverse comrade in war; to Russia, Prussia was no more than a rebellious property afterwards. At least, that's what they told themselves. First story, rating will go up.
1. Prologue: From Before

_Disclaimer: In no way do I own Hetalia-Axis Powers._

_Rated for violence and others.  
Pairings: eventually Russia/Prussia._

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**Herein Lies**

Prologue: From Before

Flakes danced in the pair of fiery pupils and very gasps were frost and mist. Though his bayonet was freezing and heavy in his hand, Gilbert Beilschmidt still glared fearlessly at the vast snow field, the jeering façade of the infamous General Winter.

Daunting as they were, the German armies still weren't as used to contend in the snow lands as the Russian troops, nor were they as well garmented for the immense cold. And that's what they get for his governor's underestimation, a one-sided slaughter of his men.

"Изменник."

A single word.

Gilbert didn't really hear it as he looked across the battle field, they were so far apart and the crackling of General Winter drowned everything in its blizzard, but he could see the hurt in those violet eyes and feel Ivan Braginski's accusation drifted and scattered by the wind.

_Traitor._

It screamed.

And Gilbert almost laughed at the other nation's simplicity and pain.

"Einfältig."

_So naïve._

They were countries, they could make no promises. Neither from before nor in the foreseeable future.

And somehow the Prussian was reminded of a time from before–der Schlacht auf dem Peipussee, the Battle of Lake Peipus–if remembered correctly it would be on the 5th of April in the year 1242. They were the Republic of Novgorod and the Livonian branch of the Teutonic Knights then as they fought atop the frozen lake. He was also reminded of how he had been over-confident after successfully persuading Eduard to join his crusade, as it wasn't until later did he realize even with the added Estonian soldiers they were still slightly outnumbered. The archers had been a complete surprise and he was forced to retreat with his men in disarray...and that's when the thin ice gave out under his feet.

Gilbert would always remember how Ivan had giggled at him then, like an amused child at other's misfortune, as he struggled uselessly to save his men from drowning. But the heavy armor they wore pulled hundreds to their death.

Fifty or so of his were taken that day. Gilbert never saw them again.

And from that day on, the albino knew there were things that hurt more than flesh. Some wounds would always go deeper and deeper. So he leveled his weapon and pulled the trigger. Though it was somewhat pointless gunning the light blond man, he could always harm where it would hurt.

A shout of shock was lost as Ivan widened his eyes, startled as some sticky substance splashed and dotted his scarf. The man who stood beside him drop with a thump, dead before even registering the pain, and blood started oozing from the forehead where the opposing country had aimed, tainting the pure white scarlet. Ivan snapped his gaze around and could feel the jag end of his firearm bit at his palm through the mitten as he tightened his hold.

Now there's madness flicking in those purplish eyes and Gilbert–no, _Prussia_–would _pay_.


	2. Ch1: Death's Doors

_Disclaimer: In no way do I own Hetalia-Axis Power._

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**Herein Lies**

Ch1: Death's Doors

Ludwig could no longer remember what the Fürhur–what _he_–had hope to achieve in this devastating struggle. Power? Land? Freedom? But no, these were the things he's going to loose, not the things he's going to gain. For in the year of 1945, the Allies' garrisons entered Berlin, the capital of Germany, and marked the end of the war.

They had lost. And _every _one of them was being punished.

Ludwig couldn't bear looking at the Austria's reproachful glare as Roderich Edelstein were brought and secured onto the rack, the skin upon his right arm were flayed off layer by layer by America's men. He was being punished for bending, for bowing before the Fürhur, because he had wanted to protect his people. But he refused to shed a tear as he was once a proud empire, and it was a slim price to pay compare to what Japan had already suffered.

Elizabeta Héderváry slapped Ludwig across the face, leaving behind a crimson trickle from her wounded fingers before she walked off after Austria's dismissal, her steps were unsteady but she waved away another's help and hissed sarcastically at America.

"Some hero you are."

Her words were cruel as they sliced the stale air and her battered limbs were almost falling apart as she spoke but still she met the glassed man's for-once stern sapphire gaze. Much of her land would be lost though unlike Prussia, she could keep her heart. And without waiting for a reply, she turned away from the American and brushed a comforting hand on Gilbert's shoulder before she, too, left the gloomy room.

And Ludwig's eyes dropped as he felt the heavy weight of the Allies upon him.

"West."

A call from beside, from the man he deemed as his elder.

"Look up." Gilbert said, not the least minding the names called at him for being the origin of his younger's pugnacity. "If not for the love of the people you're about to lose, then for the pride."

Ludwig complied as he wasn't one to disobey a direct order, but his heart was filled with grief. "Why Bruder?" He murmured in a low voice. "Why do you agree to such unreasonable scourge?"

There wasn't a reply as the albino was leaded away in chains. And the clanking sounds of metal against metal were forever sketched into the younger German's mind, along with the lonely figure of his beloved brother trailing behind the Russian, but oddly in upright treads, to face his fate.

Countries wouldn't die easy as no mortal weapon could cause them lasting damage but still, countries could fall.

"Any last words?"

Ivan leered in that strangely mocking way of his, the tokarev pistol already glistening in his hands.

_Why, you asked? Because someone needs to do it, simple as that..._

Gilbert took a deep breath as it would probably be the last and let a smile fell onto his colorless lips. Even in his last, he still stood proud. Like the once upon Teutonic Knight he had been.

"Bring it on."

_...for redemption._

And on February 25th, 1947.

Prussia was no more.

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_I hope there aren't too many historical errors...I know I failed my history test._


	3. Ch2: Faraway Dream

___Disclaimer: In no way do I own Hetalia-Axis Power._

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**Herein Lies**

Ch2: Faraway Dream

1949, Gilbert woke with a start.

Lying in a crystal casket of a cold basement–probably a mortuary–stripped bare and couldn't move a finger. Being in a coma for two years did that to a body as his internal organs needed time to restart and muscles to regain functioning shape, but the first breath that fogged the clear glass lid was enough to send the alarm, causing armed guards to rush about trying to get the message of a country's revival to their leaders in the shortest notice.

He was moved into a hospital ward after that. Hooked to machines and the likes, with people gibbering what would be nonsense to him a few years ago but now the language were defined as Russian. What his people knew he would know and how his people in general feel he would also feel, just like that. And he managed to clench his fist–the first actual movement since his rebirth–and raged. Because there was boiling anger underneath his people's hopeless faces.

Anger and hate.

At the country of Russia and his people. At the Soviet Union.

But hatred was a privilege of those in power and he was for now a hapless pile. There was nothing he could do apart from clenching his fist again though still, Gilbert refused to submit. It was all he needed to heal and slowly, that's what he did.

And on the forth day he could sit up without any outside help.

Also, on the forth day, Gilbert throttled his doctor with a wire attaching him to the electrocardiograph. Which earned himself visitor-_s_ the following day.

"You harmed my people."

Ivan accused, though not really angered, as he closed and locked the door behind him after his boss left to take care of the paper works considering this newly revived–and overly irascible–country. It was dangerous of any men to coop up the personification of a country as the emotions between countries and their people flow two-ways, and a riot was threatening to break loose as more and more Germans gathered outside the Russian hospital, demanding the return of what should be their title.

"_You_ harmed _my_ people." Gilbert retaliated.

"And I will do so again if you don't calm yourself and call back your populace." The familiar odd glint flashed in those violet orbs, a turn of his head and a slight indicating nod to the side, Gilbert followed the younger man's gaze and saw armed Russian guards drawing guns from his third floor window.

"You have no right to–"

"But I do." Ivan countered, just short of pouting, as he pressed his gloved palm none too gently onto the albino's pale heaving chest. "Königsberg no longer pumps life into your veins, instead herein lies Калининград, which pulsate the existence of Deutsche Demokratische Republik."

"A bunch of crap." Gilbert snarled.

Ivan bit his lower lips. "Why are you so mean to me?" He asked when his hand was ferociously wrenched off by slim fingers that lied about the force they conceal. "I try to play nice like what my boss told me to but still you keep pushing me away."

A thought crossed the white German's mind then, the very same thought in fact as when they faced each other on the field.

_So naïve._

But the idea was short lived as suddenly, the bigger man seized him by the upper forelimb and Gilbert winced as rough fabrics dug mercilessly into his naked shoulder. There was a long pause as they stared at each other, with faces so close that the albino could taste the bitter scent of vodka in the blond man's breath, but Gilbert didn't back down even though he knew struggling was in vain with the strong arm that's holding him captive and his sight never wavered as insane fiery glared at him through the viola haze.

"Why?" Ivan demanded. "I just wanted to make friends, but you, of all people, keep ignoring my plead."

_So childlike._

"And this is how you repay me." The blond man lowered his tone, obviously implying the murdered doctor of his. "_Why_?"

_So menacing._

Yet Gilbert only smirked, purposely igniting the blond man's ire, which then resulted in a fist ramming into the side of his face and almost dislocating his jaws as leather nicked his cheek. Then Ivan was on him, pinning him onto the bed and suffocating him as the bigger man grabbed his shoulder and neck, slamming the small of his back hard against the headboard and making the white German see stars.

But a shot of gunfire sounded from the outside like an echo of Ivan's wrath was what pulled Gilbert from his daze. The provocation of his people alone drilled enough fury into Prussia as he hooked his fingers onto the dangling plastic tube that's providing him the sugar he needed for survival and pulled, bringing the metal I.V. stand crashing hard upon the nation's head. In the moment of stupor, Gilbert managed to crawl from under the heavy weigh and–wincing from the wail of the ripped skin on his left wrist and the sticky felt of his own blood that's saturating the torn bandages that had used to secure the intravenous needle in place–collapsed on the cold tiled floor.

He was far from being freed though as the next instant the younger man had seized him by his metallic-colored threads, forcing him onto his still weakened limbs. Then there's the sound of cracking–Gilbert hoped it wasn't of his skull–as he was slammed headfirst into the window panel.

"S-stop!" Gilbert coughed, blood streamed from a wound from above his brows and down his cheek, bathing his visions in an eerie scarlet hue and leaving a taste of copper upon his lips.

"Why?" Ivan whispered, voice ghosting over the other man's ear as he pulled back the shorter German's silver hair and exposed the pale necklines. "You still refuse to be my friend."

The glass was shattered on the second go and cuts sank deep across Gilbert's chest and tender belly skin as he were crashed half-way out the window and found himself facing a dangerous drop. The loose garments of the hospital wear were torn and hanging in patches on his hips, and Gilbert could feel the stinging claws of Moscow's low temperature eating at his flesh.

Shouts and screams, from Germans and Russians alike, spread like infection as the people bellow pointed. Many frowning and angered at how their country was treated by the other.

And that's when Gilbert, ignoring the slippery sensation of his own blood, closed his fingers on a small shard of pointy glass before turning and burying it into the blond Russian's garbed forearm.

"You can mock me and you can mock my people...but you cannot do so to my dignity." Gilbert stated assertively. "I'm too awesome for that."

And that's when he was–to many's horror–shoved out the window and hurled onto the solid concrete yards below.

Ivan was shocked as he leaned out the window like a kid caught with broken china in hand, his scarf dangling in the chilly wind in a somewhat helpless meaner.

_What have I done?_

The former nation of Prussia lay coughing blood–probably with half or more of his bones broken–and splattering the sheet of chaste white a contrasting red. But at least the man was still alive, and it was more than enough for a smile to graze the blond nation's lips.

But still Prussia refused to bend so low.

And as he made his decision, the thought sent ripples round and round, and soon he was answered by a resolute call, which then followed by another and another. And then the gathered Germans made forward, not backing down at gunpoint, not backing down even after the shots were fired and people started to drop.

Casualties.

There were always casualties when countries fought.

And now Ivan was scared.

Not so much for the spill of his people's blood as there were always many, more than many. And he couldn't care less for those whose eyes slowly went dark and fingertips went cold, those that belonged to the man who now didn't even have a proper name.

But because he feared of losing something that was properly his.

And Ivan felt the wound on his arm throbbed in a even more distinguish manner as a young German lady managed to break free from his Russian guard's besiegement and gently heaved the fallen former nation onto her shoulder.

Before disappearing behind a cranky car door, Gilbert turned and gave him the finger with a slight smirk painted on his face. And the albino left under the protection of his men, with the destination of somewhere outside Moscow in mind, somewhere away from Russia. Probably in Berlin.

But Ivan's wide innocent eyes never left as the car drove away.

Because it carried someone that rightfully _belonged_ to him.


End file.
